


Non-Traditional Mating Rituals

by Kitt_Reece (SalaciousCrumble)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Lite, Comedy, Exhibitionism, Feels, Fluff, Group Sex, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Porn with Feelings, Ritual Public Sex, Sappy, Schmoop, Sexual Humor, Stormpilot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-26 15:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6244585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalaciousCrumble/pseuds/Kitt_Reece
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe’s never given much thought to commitment ceremonies, but it turns out Finn’s been doing some reading on the subject.  Some couples take it seriously, but Finn and Poe? They’re not exactly conventional.</p><p>From start to finish, two guys try to plan an a/b/o lite version of what amounts to a really dirty wedding.  (Updated summary)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is complete (fully written and edited), to be posted over the next week. See end notes for a bit more explanation.

Poe’s never given much thought to traditional mating rites; in fact, he’s barely even heard the phrase since his great-grandmother passed away. Polite company these days prefer the term “commitment ceremony,” while the company Poe keeps just says “fuck festival.” It’s snappier.

But it turns out Finn’s been doing some reading on the subject.

Finn broaches the subject one rainy night—Klonoid being incapable of anything but rain—while they’re zoning out to a pixelated space opera on a holopad that’s about eighty years old. They’re too tired to actually make out, so instead, they’ve settled for a slow, inexorable slump to horizontal. Poe wonders where the magic in their relationship went.

“I think it sounds fun; plus everyone loves a party. We should consider it,” Finn suggests.

Poe raises his face from where it’s smushed into Finn’s bicep and teases. “What, are you trying to make people jealous?”

“They’re already jealous.” This is true. “I’m just interested in the tradition, that’s all—what it’s like.”

Poe sits up and squints at him sidelong, because as bad as he is at lying, Finn is surprisingly adept. He can’t quite tell if Finn’s genuinely curious or just pulling his leg, but he figures BB-8 can get a bio reading on him when they talk about it later.

“We didn’t exactly celebrate many holidays when I was a kid,” Finn adds wryly, without a trace of self-pity. His face does seem artfully neutral, which is one reason Poe thinks he might not be serious. It’d be a pretty good joke.

So, Poe smiles gamely and goes along with it. It’s not like he’s fully opposed to the idea, and he’d be a total asshole if Finn were serious and he shot him down.

“All right, we consider it,” he agrees, dropping a kiss on Finn’s cheek. “But you’re paying for the whole thing.”

“Just think about it,” Finn says again, guileless. “No pressure, for either of us.”

 

____

 

No-one could ever say that Poe Dameron is not an exhibitionist, nor that Finn the First does not appreciate some delightfully raunchy public displays of affection, without being denounced as a lying liar-pants.

But public “claiming” of a partner—to Poe, in this day and age, feels wholly unnecessary. Sure, he and Finn are close to an _Ideal Dynamic Match_ on like twenty-six levels, and people like to see them fulfill that destiny, or whatever. They leave their door ajar some nights for that very charitable reason.

It’s just that a lot of couples take the ceremony seriously, but Finn and Poe? They’ve never been like that. Finn’s an alpha, Poe’s an omega, they have a cute little droid and really hot sex, but that’s as traditional as they get.

Still…

On some level, part of Poe thinks he gets it. Or at least, he thinks Finn can help him understand, and he’d do anything for Finn.

 

____

 

“Okay,” husks Finn two nights later, looking up at Poe from his current favorable position. “Maybe I do kinda want to fuck you in front of people.”

“You’re allowed,” says Poe, aiming for magnanimous, while Finn tries to surreptitiously rid his mouth of one of Poe’s pubic hairs by licking the sheet. “It’s who we are, after all. It’s just part of our nature. Really hot nature,” he finishes with a groan, because the spirit of Finn’s words and his slick mouth are both just aces.

Finn pulls off with a snort, which is not aces. Not aces at all. “Good. Because I really...really want to,” he says, dragging his solar plexus along Poe’s sensitive bits, en route to his lips.

“Pretty sure we can round up some people willing to watch at a moment’s notice,” Poe gasps out, in case Finn has somehow forgotten about his smart mouth in the past thirty seconds.

Finn is steadfast. “Nope. I want the ritual. Apparently, nature demands three orgasms, each.”

“Nature has really low expectations,” says Poe, positive that Finn agrees.

 

____

 

One benefit to being in charge is, after assessing the situation, Poe can assign a milk run to just the three of them.

He picks a supply mission to the nearest friendly agriworld. For once, they can spare the fuel, and flying escort for root vegetables and other non-perishables is low-enough risk to afford distractions. They even have time for a quick stop at a bantha creamery while they wait for the two freighters to finish loading.

All of this means Jess and Snap absolutely know something’s up. They’re waiting in formation around the two larger ships, chatting idly about holos, when he gathers his courage—and it’s ridiculous that he feels anxious about this, considering his choice of occupations.

“Look...I need your advice.” Some might consider that a grave mistake, but Snap and Jess are amazing pilots _alive, alive_ because they possess minds that are both highly creative and highly tactical. Force knows he doesn’t have to worry about their level of professionalism, either.

Poe wanted to ask Karé and Iolo. Would have, if they were still seeing each other, but it’s only been a few months since they separated. To say his friends are hurting would be a callous understatement.

So, Poe gives Jess and Snap an overview of the situation. Once they stop whistling— _in his ear_ —and heckling, he gets down to business.

“Let me repeat: we haven’t made a decision yet. This is all just hypothetical.” He doesn’t feel it’s entirely unwarranted to add, “And if you say anything to anyone, you’ll regret it for the rest of your career.” 

“Okay, okay. How long have you been together?” Snap asks, voice crackling over his comms, possibly because his whistling shorted out a connection.

Poe thinks for a moment. “Almost two years. No, wait, one and a half. ...Maybe two.”

“He remembers because the flowers were blooming on Boranda.” Poe can hear Jess batting her eyelashes through the static of background radiation. He just can. It’s a double-dig, because the allergies he only discovered upon arrival at the Boranda base were _horrible_.

“Shut up,” he says absently, doing the mental math. “I still think it’s two years, give or take an extended stint in medical.”

“Then I say you do it. It’s about time,” Snap says, with the unspoken ‘what are you waiting for?’

“But isn’t that just it? We’ve been together for—”

“Did you know you leave your door open some nights?” Jess interrupts.

Poe ignores that. “—two whole years. Hasn’t that ship already launched? Why now?”

“Why not? You love each other and it’s hot as hell. It’s never too late for either of those things.” Poe forgets sometimes that Snap is nearly a decade older than him. It humbles him, sometimes. The man knows what he’s talking about.

“Poe. Poe,” Jess says, suddenly serious. “It really is hot as hell. Plus, you guys are like a kriffing fairytale! Handsome rebel gives equally handsome renegade a name, a future...and his heart.”

Without reason or warning, Poe imagines Kylo Ren dressed as a wicked stepmother. It’s horrifying on so many levels, and a lesser pilot might have jerked the yoke.

“I didn’t _give him_ a name, and he made his own future,” Poe reminds her, as he has dozens of others before. “I gave him a _nickname_ , okay? One he liked, and decided to stick with.” He knows she’s being playful, but the distinction matters. Finn isn’t some droid or pet.

“Right. Sorry Finn,” she says to the stars, genuine.

Snap asks wryly, “Are you still calling him buddy?”

He sighs. “Trying my best not to.”

“Poe...if you don’t want to go through with it, then don’t. But you need to tell him,” Snap says.

“And then you need to pull your head out of your ass,” Jess contributes.

“I second that,” says Snap.

BB-8 simply cannot stay quiet at this, and offers his agreement. It’s a little bit Poe’s fault for setting him up for failure.

“You stay out of this,” he tells his astromech, albeit gently. “Guys...I’ll think about it. I will. I am.”

“You asked for our advice, and we gave it. So what’s holding you back, Poe?”

He can’t answer Snap’s question. The conversation lulls, although it’s not exactly silent. It stutters up again when Jess asks if they’ve seen the leaked schematics for a new argon compressor gasket for Y-wings.

A minute later, the captain of one of the freighters pipes up in his ear, letting them know both ships are ready to make the jump to the Klonoidian system. Poe acknowledges her transmission, realizing they’ve been gone a while.

“Prep to jump home, standard sequence,” he instructs his squadmates. BB-8 syncs his flight computers with the others.

There’s a burst of static and Jess cursing. “Shit, I just spilled my ice cream.”

“How much will you pay me to say we hit a hyperspace anomaly?” Snap asks.

Poe looks down at his own empty ice-cream container, wedged in the vee of his legs. He loves Finn. He’s not afraid of commitment. “We don’t need a ceremony,” he whispers just to hear it out loud, softly enough to not trigger the comms.

The words are a reflex; self-control and self-sacrifice are the holy writ of a resistance that’s barely kept itself alive since before he joined. A ceremony would be indulgent, a waste of time and their own money.

“But I really want one,” he murmurs, surprising himself right as the stars outside the canopy pull apart into threads of light. He doesn’t know when, or why exactly, that came to be.

Late that night when they get back, he grabs a quick, cold dinner with Snap and Connix. Finn is away on his own overnight mission, so Poe goes back to sit in the quiet of Black One when the ground crew has finished with her.

It feels strange to have the canopy closed, but not be wearing his harness or helmet. The cockpit is intimately familiar, of course—full of memories, both good and bad. The markings on critical controls have long since worn off, and the seat creaks when he leans left. Black One has been his own for nearly three years, through as many hard landings and a dozen other close calls. His ship doesn’t have the answers, but in the quiet of its sleep, he finds his mind quiets, too.

He drifts in undirected thought until a noise from outside grabs his attention, and then he feels stupid for sitting alone, in near darkness, in his T-70. He all but sneaks back to their quarters only to do the same thing in bed.

The click of the door opening around sunrise wakes him, and through bleary eyes, he sees a rumpled-looking Finn drop his bag beside the desk.

“Hey,” says Finn, coming over with a smile.

Poe kicks off the sheet and sits up. “Hey.” Looking up at him, Poe feels wide awake and far removed at the same time. He reaches for Finn’s wrist. “I want to do it. I want the ceremony,” he blurts out.

“Yeah?” Finn sits down on the bed beside him, wearing the expression that indicates he’s trying to play it cool. It’s not very convincing. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

It takes two seconds for Finn to give in and beam brighter than a star, and less than that for Poe. He drops his forehead onto Finn’s shoulder and pretends he hasn’t started to...giggle. He’s not very convincing, either.

When they both get going, that’s it—the rest of the morning is a lost cause.

 

____

 

They break the news to Rey first, of course.

It’s been a standard month or longer since they’ve been able to visit, and now she’s tied up in struggling negotiations with two Outer Rim worlds. She hates feeling like a figurehead more than almost anything, but General Organa specifically asked Rey to be there in her stead. And while Poe has always been enamored of Leia, she and Rey share a much deeper connection. It’s something he can vaguely sense, but not fully understand—it feels ancient.

Even through the comms, Rey’s happiness is so radiant, all three of them are blinking away tears. She doesn’t bother to feign polite surprise, or hide a touch of wistfulness, because Rey has never lied about her feelings in her life.

"Will you come?” Finn entreats, as if there was any doubt. “If you can’t make it…”

"We’ll wait until you can, indefinitely.” Poe’s words coincide with hers.

"How can you even ask?” Rey beams. “I’d move planets to be there.”

Neither statement falls within a parsec of exaggeration.

Poe knows of Finn’s solemn promise: Rey’s life will never again be lonely, not like it was. Not like Finn’s had been, set apart and isolated by something intrinsic. They aren’t fighting a war—one they’re basically, almost, very nearly close to winning, mostly—for someone as incredible and _incandescent_ as Rey to be cloistered away.

Finn and Poe may be an _Ideal Dynamic Match_ according to psych profiles and Cosmic magazine, but they’ll always, always want her in their lives. It’s simply up to Rey to decide what kind of Jedi she wants to be.

With one hand each, they can hold both of hers. There is more than one type of love, after all.

 

____

 

Poe’s closest squadmates are told next, because he wants them to get it all out of their system before the big day. They mostly do.

 

____

 

Finn looks up at him as Poe drops his lunch tray, from a greater height than necessary, onto the table.

“I’m taking over the guest list,” he demands, gesturing with the horrifyingly bedazzled pad in his free hand which has been foisted on them for planning purposes. It does indeed stand out in their quarters, or wherever else they try to lose it.

“We are not inviting my father to the actual ceremony. The man’s already had one minor cardiac event; I’m not causing him a second.”

“He’s friends and family,” says Finn, looking confused but curious, and possibly trying to ascertain what terrible offense he has committed against Poe’s ancestors.

“He’s not exactly old-fashioned, but there are a few things Dameron men just won’t do. Attending the fuck festival for their offspring is one of them.”

Finn’s expression clears, then morphs into one of Poe’s favorite smirks. “Because he’s too old to join in, or because he doesn’t want to see his son in a happy, committed partnership?”

Damn him. Damn that smirk. “Because he’d rather not see the genitals of his adult son, or the genitals of his adult son’s mate, on exhibit. Not to mention the rest of it.” He makes an obscene gesture with his polystarch roll, and takes a moment to be rather impressed with himself for pantomiming that with bread—without butter, even.

“He’s not a prude, he’s just a parent.” Poe takes a bite and continues his mouth full, “And Snap has a weird relationship with his grandma, so don’t try to bring him into this.”

“So invite your dad to the after-party?” Finn asks, picking up the pad to make a note.

“Sure. Just don’t let him drink.” Poe isn’t thinking when he says it.

“Why?” Finn’s smirk bounds back in for a curtain call. “Will he flirt with General Organa?”

Poe’s lips tick up out of habit, but it falls a bit more flat than he intends. “No. But he’ll be thinking about my mom, and I don’t want him to overdo it,” comes his earnest answer, instead.

A moment later he opens his mouth to joke _One cardiac event and all that_ , but in the blink of an eye, Finn leans over to swipe the fruit from Poe’s tray, and with the other hand he covers Poe’s own on the table.

 

____

 

As it turns out, the news doesn’t exactly surprise his father, and they manage to skirt the issue of the ceremony entirely.

Poe is feeling really good about everyone’s reactions, which helps mitigate the ache in his chest at how much he wishes he could tell his mother. She would’ve liked anyone who makes him happy, but he thinks she would’ve especially liked Finn. If for no other reason than he saved Poe’s life.

“Nothing special, just having it out back behind the hangar,” he tells his dad. “Snap—Wexley—has offered to pick you up at a rendezvous point, and let you hide in his room during the main event.” Okay, so Poe mentions the ceremony once. _Once_.

“You know I’ve never met him,” his father says, somewhat hesitantly. “Not outside of a holocall.”

“Snap?” Poe fishes, needing a moment to swallow his guilt. His dad can probably see it written across his face, though.

“Finn. I’ve never met him in person.”

“Yeah.” Poe looks down for a moment. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I visited.” Longer than a year. Security isn’t a good enough excuse—he doesn’t have one.

Kes will never begrudge his son’s life with the Resistance—not because he has unshakeable faith in their cause, but because Poe does. So when his dad clears his throat and offers a moment of gruff absolution, it’s sincere. “Kid, I understand how duty calls. It’ll just be good to see you again.”

“There’s something else.” Poe frowns. He realizes now why he chose, on a subconscious level, to call his father without Finn around. “Finn doesn’t have parents, Dad.”

Kes rubs at his eyes. “They passed away when he was young?” It sounds like he already knows. Maybe there's a reason the topic’s never come up before.

“No. They, uh...He was taken as a baby.”

Poe doubts this atrocity is unique to the First Order, and his dad has certainly seen his share of war orphans. He scratches the heel of his hand on his stubble, in a mannerism his son inherited. “Well, Finn should know he’s got a father now, if he wants one. I’ll tell him when I get there.”

“I think he’d really like that. Come a day early, so you can meet him before. You can still hide out during the—you know.”

“Yes, right.” Kes clears his throat again. That’s when Poe notices pictures of himself as an innocent child and teenager, hanging on the wall behind his father’s slightly stricken expression.

Stellar recon work, there. “Okay, I should go, but we’ll see you soon. Love you.”

 

____

 

The people who _didn’t_ hear about it first are driving them crazy. There are 229 personnel on base, and only 25 or so hate them. Poe is feeling a little more charitable toward those 25 people at the moment.

Finn, bless him a thousand times over, comes up with the idea to just announce the whole thing over base comms and let people figure out the logistics for themselves. They only have to cash in a few favors to gain access and permission to use the system. Poe suspects it would’ve been a lot more expensive if Finn weren’t right: everyone does love a party.

On a furiously squalling day, at approximately 0700 local time, Finn and Poe make their announcement. They probably should have practiced it more than once on the way to the command center.

“Hey everyone, listen up,” Poe starts.

He lets an enthusiastic Finn do the talking, though. Lately, Finn seems less interested in following existing traditions, and more in starting new ones with Poe—which kills him a little.

Finn takes over the mic. “We’ve decided to hold a commitment ceremony—we being Finn and Poe, sorry—forty standard days from today. So, about forty-eight rotations here. We can’t guarantee you food or drinks, but fires, dancing, and uh, the obvious entertainment will be provided. Come out to the treeline behind Hangar B, unless the weather is terrible, in which case probably in the mess hall or something. Starts at eighteen-hundred local. Dress...casual?” He glances at Poe.

Poe’s love for Finn grows fiercer still at this generous set-up. “You’ll probably get naked anyway,” he cracks. It’s very difficult to refrain from closing with _Black Leader out,_ but he’s a professional.

“I think that was good,” Finn says, thumb off the mic button. “Wait, hold on.” He adds, “Just ask us if you have any questions, but know that recording of the ceremony is encouraged. That’s all. Hope you can make it.”

Poe nods. “We nailed it, buddy.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I think we need a plan,” Finn calls over the noise of the ‘fresher water. “And snacks.”

“For the three orgasms?” Poe asks. He’s using a toothbrush—a spare one—to scrub at the engine sludge under his fingernails while Finn takes a shower with actual water. The tiny sonic in their quarters, itself a recent luxury, has been broken for weeks, so they’ve commandeered the communal washroom for half an hour. “You don’t want to surprise each other?”

“Do you want me to surprise you?” Finn parrots the question.

Poe takes a moment to think about it, and when he doesn’t answer, Finn continues.

“Maybe it’s more romantic if we don’t know everything in advance. What if I plan the first, you plan the second, and then we just improvise for the third?”

“Yes, Finn, that sounds perfect,” Poe responds enthusiastically.

“...Okay, but how about I plan yours more than you do,” Finn says.

“You want to plan—”

“Why don’t I just plan yours too. I’ll plan both of them. All three.”

“I—” Poe stammers.

The water shuts off. “I’m handling the plan, Poe.”

When Poe looks up through his reflection, his mouth is agape. “Are you using your alpha voice right now?”

“Damned straight,” Finn mutters to the corner.

Poe’s smirk is all in his eyebrows.

 

____

 

He may not interface with Lyran Killiwak on a regular basis anymore, but Poe still knows where her desk is. It’s tiny and crammed into a musty corner of Ops C. There are two wooden boxes set before it, at which she gestures for them to sit. It’s not really a sit-down conversation, so he expects the news to be disappointing.

The captain shakes her head ruefully. “I doubt it comes as a surprise when I say I’m sorry we can’t do more. Even if I could get you space on it, the next freighter won’t be here in time.”

“Hey, thanks for trying,” Poe says appreciatively. They’d been hoping to hitch a ride for a couple crates of fancier Republic food, bought through a proxy of course, and paid for by Kes Dameron.

“We do have plenty of root vegetables,” she says.

“No way,” insists Finn. They’re not even willing to consider using Resistance resources, beyond the open space inside Hangar B. The mess hall was roundly declared off-limits several days ago, due to concerns over hygiene.

“But, Snap’s grandma is baking us fertility cakes,” Finn cheerfully informs the room at large—or small, as it were. He’s been bringing it up all day just to watch Poe squirm. Finn, however, has only read about fertility cakes, and while Tirra Wexley is very generous, she should absolutely be barred from baking. Poe will have his moment.

“That’s really sweet,” the captain says. “But how will they get here?”

“We’ll see if they even do. Snap’s got a shore-leave day and a rendezvous,” Poe says, promptly feeling like a heel for disparaging a gesture that’s taking up so much of people’s time, all for him and Finn. He’s not normally this self-absorbed, or ungrateful. Lyran cocks her head and waits for him to elaborate.

“It’s not secure for him to take a civilian shuttle from Akiva, and I don’t want to know how he plans on fitting six huge cakes in his T-65. She’s sending one for every sextype.”

Killiwak chuckles. “I had my alpha cake when I came of age, but didn’t really care for it. My little sister’s an omega, though, and she loved hers. Are you guys gonna trade pieces?”

Finn perks up further. “That’s a more recent custom, but we’re on board.”

Poe’s smile broadens at Finn’s eagerness to share what he knows about any given topic. One wall of their small quarters has a well-secured shelf of actual paper books; they’re real antiques, Poe learned, when he put his drink on top of a smaller stack and was nearly banned from ever touching them again. Datapads are piled on top, and scattered across the surface of the desk, filled with anything the First Order kept him from learning, and more.

Upon leaving the operations center, they head to their respective shifts: Poe to Hangar A, and Finn to Tactical A. Before they part ways, Poe gives him a kiss, deliberates, and then narrows his eyes playfully.

“Consider for a moment the handful of alphas not under my command, with whom I worked long, sweaty hours for a year before you came along…including Captain Killiwack. That’s for bringing up Snap’s grandma.”

Poe turns and strides away, but not before he notices Finn frowning.

-

He’s almost to the hangar when he stops in his tracks, curses, and jogs all the way back across base to the tactical bunker. The retinal scanner lets him in.

“One second, I just—Finn,” He calls, beckoning him over from where he’s scowling at a star chart. Poe pulls him just outside the bunker door, and the slight resistance in Finn’s limbs when Poe reaches for his hands makes him feel even worse.

“I’m sorry,” Poe rushes in. “I don’t know—I was trying to be funny, but it wasn’t. That was completely thoughtless of me.”

Because of course they’ve both slept with other people, but knowing and hearing about it are two very different things. They still work with some of Poe’s trysts. Had Finn said something similar to him, Poe would feel awful, and he’s not wired like an alpha. He doesn’t feel possessive in the same way, with the same intensity.

Finn’s jaw is still tight, and he’s looking left of Poe’s face. He’s trying to let it go.

It goes without saying that Poe has amazing instincts, including those of his dynamic. Falling back on that behavior might go a way toward smoothing things over.

But he won't, because this is his screw-up as a _person_ , and he's going to apologize like one. He swallows and says the next thing that comes to mind. The truth.

“I love you, Finn, so much. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

A moment later, Finn blows out a shaky breath and pulls him into a tight embrace. Poe bites the inside of his cheek to keep from doing something ridiculous, like tearing up. He’s not exactly ashamed to cry, but this isn’t the time or reason for it.

It’s a good thing he’s such a total badass as a pilot.

 

____

 

With just a few days left until the ceremony, Finn and Poe are going over a checklist.

Rather, Finn is reading it aloud to Poe, who is on his hands and knees cleaning up the mess BB-8 made all over their floor. His little buddy just _had_ to come hurtling in, flinging mud _everywhere_ , because RC-9A had relayed some juicy bit of gossip that BB-8 wanted to share. The drawback to having quarters next to an exterior door on a very rainy planet.

To be fair, it is some pretty good gossip. Probably not something Poe should repeat. He should instruct BB-8 not to repeat it, either, because he’s a commander and a good person, and it’s obviously private for a reason…unless it’s not. Actually, Connix is the last person he’d expect to let slip something like that, especially to a droid like RC-9A.

“Poe. Candles. What about the candles?”

“Yeah, I picked ‘em up,” he says absently, searching for something to stand on, because there’s mud pinwheeled across the ceiling. It’s duracrete like everything else, but that won’t stop the bigger globs from drying up in the night and falling on them.

Finn lowers the pad. “You’re not just saying that?”

Poe chuckles fondly. “Babe, I got ‘em. I stashed the box in the level supply room with ‘not for you’ written on it in three languages. I added a smiley face to soften the message.”

“Okay. Then I think that’s it,” says Finn, standing up and stretching. Their list isn’t very long—maybe twenty or thirty things on it, including what they have in the way of food and party supplies. But there’s one daunting, final task at the bottom which they haven’t even started on.

“Except, what’re we doing for music?” Finn asks, scratching at some dried mud on the wall by the bed. He kneels down to address a streak closer to the ground, and Poe snaps, “Uh-uh! BB-8, that’s part of your section.”

BB-8 swivels to look at Poe from the corner he’s presently scrubbing with the sponge in his grasping arm.

“I dunno,” Poe replies to Finn. “But music is my responsibility, so I’ll figure it out. You don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.” He’s heading to the supply closet to find something with a long handle, so that he can tie a sponge to the end, stand on the _real_ bed where they sleep, and scrub mud off his ceiling.

By the time he returns, he’s holding onto a broom and an idea. “Hey, so we just need something with a beat, right? I mean, that’s the most important part?”

Finn glances up from where he’s sitting on the floor, and dammit, he’s cleaning in BB-8’s section again. People think Poe’s the only one who spoils the droid rotten. “What are you thinking?” Finn wants to know.

“Surely at least a few of our non-participants play instruments. We’ve got plenty of oil drums and empty canisters, and those only require a couple people who can keep the beat. Do we know anyone who plays an instrument who’s already told us they’re sitting out?” It’s not a requirement to confirm attendance, but it is polite, and most people around base have caught up with them.

Poe watches Finn think for a split-second, and then his face lights up. “Maklan Zee plays a kloo horn, and they told me a while ago they’re sitting out.”

The coincidence seems like fantastic luck, but then, Poe’s always been fantastically lucky. Finn’s evidence of that. “Can you ask them tomorrow at holochess club?”

Finn replies with a flat look, because yes, obviously he was going to do that.

Poe distinctly recalls seeing Shayl Jastra'pek, part of Jess’s ground crew, carrying a vioflute during the last base evac drill, but she’s already mentioned having big plans for the ceremony. Still, maybe she knows other musicians.

This is good; it’s all coming together. “Finn, buddy—”

“Please don’t start that again.”

“Sorry, Finn, love...I think we’ve got the music figured out.”

Finn stands with a grin, striking through the task with a dramatic flourish. He tosses the pad onto the floor and comes over to stick his hands down Poe’s pants.

Well, that’s what happens in Poe’s mind. In reality, Finn tosses the pad on the bed and takes the sponge away from trying-hard-but-useless BB-8.

Poe refuses to accept this defeat.

 

____

 

Rey arrives early in the morning, Klonoid time, the day before the big one. As usual, it’s pouring down rain, so Poe and Finn are waiting just inside the huge hangar doors closest to her landing pad.

Interestingly, Rey requested clearance for a newer model shuttle instead of the Falcon—maybe they finally decided the old ship was too high-profile. The shuttle approaching through the gloom is sleek and powerful, and Poe’s eyebrows ascend as it descends.

It’s got nothing on his ride, of course, but those new sublight engines are definitely a perk of being important. Nothing to offset a T-70’s screaming thrust-to-weight ratio, or its unquestionably better maneuverability in atmo or vacuum. It does make him think briefly about his Republic T-85, and it might be nice to stretch his legs...but really, there’s no contest.

Finn takes up and pats his hand. He knows enough about ships, and more than enough about Poe himself, to recognize lust when it’s bleeding out beside him.

After a moment, Finn furrows his brow. The ship’s magnetic seals have thunked open, and the repulsor engines have idled all the way down, but not off. “Why isn’t she completely powering down?”

They take a few steps toward the shuttle in unison; Poe feels a tad uneasy as the external airlock opens, but nothing happens except for the ramp lowering—whisper-silent. Even concerned, he has to scoff at how posh the thing is.

Thankfully, a nonchalant Rey emerges to stand in the airlock. She pre-empts their usual rush to greet each other by calling out, “Well? Want to take it for a spin? It’s all warmed up.”

“It’s no Black One,” Poe exclaims breathlessly, from the top of the ramp, while Finn still has both feet on the ground. “Also, hello, it’s great to see you.”

He very nearly collides with General Organa in the passage. “I’d like to disembark, first,” she says wryly.

Surprise, more than force of habit, has him stopping to salute before letting her pass. “General!” His brain catches up after a few blinks. “General,” he says, warmth flushing through his chest. “You made it?”

There are other possibilities for her presence; Klonoid is their main base now, after all, or this could be a stopover on her way elsewhere.

She pats him on the arm, gruff and warm. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

As soon as the General is out the door, Finn and Rey tromp in with their arms around each other. Poe looks toward the cockpit, then back at them, and wills them to move just a little bit faster.

“You’ve checked the ion engine solenoids on this thing, right, because I hear they have a tendency to falter in electrical storms,” is the garbage that comes out of his mouth.

Finn and Rey shoot him incredulous looks that he interprets easily; Finn, because Poe is displaying poor decision-making skills when it comes to attractive ships, and Rey, because he’s just suggested obvious maintenance procedures to her, of all people. In his defense, he’s not trying to be patronizing. He just wants her to have a safe, reliable ship, and he wants to dig around in it a little bit.

Finn does the exact same thing when it comes to speeders, so he has no right to judge.

“Okay, sorry, can we just—”

“Yes, Poe,” Rey says, grinning at him. His heart flutters at her obvious fondness. “We can.”

In the face of such affection, how can he do anything but take two big strides to bridge the gap, and lift her off the ground in a hug? “We’ve missed you,” he sighs.

“Negotiations are dreadful; I feel as though I’m not helping at all,” she responds, pulling back to kiss his cheek. “All I want to do is spend the entire day with you two, and maybe see the rest of our friends.”

Finn rubs a hand across her back. “We can do that. I can easily find someone to cover my shift.”

Rey turns back to Poe, motioning to the cockpit. “Shall we start our test flight, then?”

“No,” Poe says instantly. “No, it can wait. Are you hungry? Let’s get some breakfast.”

“Sentimental omega,” she teases, as if Finn’s any better.

 

____

 

“You ready for tomorrow?” Finn asks before he drifts off.

“Yeah,” Poe says, nodding. “I am.”

He listens to the sound of Finn breathing behind him, but he doesn’t sleep. Instead, his mind insists on replaying memories of their lives together:

The blur of meeting and breaking out as a team; the unsettling ache when he woke alone on Jakku, persisting as he stumbled through the desert; the frisson down his spine when he saw Finn on Takodana; how his heart stopped afterward as Finn was carried off the Falcon.

The first time they kissed; and the second, which stole every breath he’d taken in his life, filling his lungs with sweet new ones.

The first few months after Starkiller, rough with exhaustion and misapprehensions; meeting Finn’s eyes over a briefing room table; kissing him hello, and being kissed goodbye; dreading the day they’d be ordered to stop so they didn’t kriff something up.

Moving in together; arguing about something petty; arguing about something important; BB-8 picking up Finn's shirt and handing it to Poe; changing one of Finn's bandages; Finn's stricken face above him when Poe slipped off a wet ladder.

Coming home, over and over.

 

He’s been ready all along.

 

“I can’t sleep, either,” Finn whispers.


	3. Chapter 3

Poe squelches across the soggy clearing with their first crate of supplies, which includes the candles, some snacks, several canteens of water, and a fire extinguisher.

The dais is a simple platform, constructed of fresh wood rather than duracrete or metal—he insisted on that—and unadorned except for some amateur scrollwork. It’s raised about a meter and a half off the ground, which is high enough for everyone to see, but not so high it obscures any of the action. Of arguably greater importance: it’s wide enough to prevent him and Finn from rolling off, since they didn’t bother with railings. They’ve stretched a huge canvas tarp in the branches above to protect against rain and sticky sap. Everything smells fresh and clean.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, looking up at the soft grey sky. Rey must have pulled some strings with the Force, because there’s no other explanation as to why it’s not raining. Occasional mist, yes, but remarkably different from yesterday and all the days preceding.

He sets the crate on the platform itself, beside two large stacks of thick bantha-wool and finer nerf-wool blankets, and multicolored pillows of various shapes and sizes.

Someone has kindly, thoughtfully, sewn them two beautiful pillows, embellished with their names and the alpha and omega symbols locked together. There’s a matching blanket at the top of one stack, dyed in such a way that the overlapping colors blend into infinitely more.

Poe turns to look out over the empty clearing, and finds his mouth a little dry. Not long, now.

They’re putting the non-participants off to the right side, where they’ll have chairs from the mess hall and plenty of blankets. It warms Poe’s heart that they’ve chosen to attend at all. On the far left, they’ve got the pairs and groups who've chosen to only participate with each other. That leaves the majority of people corralled in the center...where the real action happens.

He hears branches snap, and Finn comes staggering theatrically out of the forest near where they piled the stones. “Sure, take the light crate,” he says. “I’ve got all the rocks.”

“You’re the big, strong alpha,” Poe says blithely, but he meets Finn halfway and takes a couple large stones off the top of the pile. They really are quite heavy, which forces him to rebalance. ‘Patience,’ he thinks at his cock, which has taken an abrupt interest in Finn’s sweaty, straining biceps.

The rocks, large as they could find and carry, form a circular boundary around what will be the central bonfire. Poe’s not sure they found enough stones to ring all three, but in a pinch, they can supplement with duracrete blocks.

“Snap and Karé should be out soon to help us,” he says, wiping sweat out of his eyes. “And you conscripted Rally and Freov Nyscus, right?” They’re going to need to save some energy for later.

“Yeah. I say we let them handle the rest of the rocks,” Finn delegates.

Poe nods at this wise decision. “On to the wood?”

They left cords upon cords of wood to dry in one corner of the hanger. With all the humidity, it’s highly doubtful they’re ready to burn, but Poe knows where to find incendiary fluid. He knows where to find a _lot_ of it, and Finn is an excellent look-out.

____

 

In a few hours, they get all dressed up—which is to say, dressed down. Finn’s friend Specialist Yla collected worn out khaki canvas and softened it somehow to make their cloaks. Per tradition, they’ll be naked underneath during the declarations, and then they’ll just be naked, period.

But before that happens, Poe and Finn are dragging around chairs in the non-participant area—which consists largely of rearranging each other’s placements when the other’s back is turned. They don’t agree on _everything_.

Finn frowns at him. “This is you being stubborn about nothing.”

“This is me being right,” Poe counters, arms akimbo. “And if it’s nothing, why not do it my way?” A woman’s voice interrupts before Poe can call him a control freak, which is for the best.

“Gentlemen, I think it’s time to start getting ready.”

Prina Loth-Sarna insisted cycles ago that she be the one to handle their body paint. Her generosity was readily and gratefully accepted, because Poe has seen Finn try to draw, and he is terrible at it. Poe, on the other hand, is really good at drawing snubfighters...but maybe not much else.

She motions to him. “Since yours might take a little longer, I’m doing you first, Comm- Poe.”

“I’ll just be right over there.” Poe snatches up his cloak, narrowing his eyes at the chairs first and then at Finn. “Watching.”

”This way.” She steers him away and over to the staging area. Calling it that is probably generous, considering it consists of a table and two chairs, set in the thinner trees a dozen paces behind the platform.

The tools of Prina’s trade are spread at one end of the table: a dozen glazed porcelain pots, arranged into the visible light spectrum. The brightly colored paint that fills each container appears viscous. Beside the pots lie a row of brushes, many the same size, and next to the brushes are a few small rags and a larger container of water. At least, he hopes it’s water, and not something which removes skin along with mistakes.

Prina pulls away to consider him, probably thinking about his skin tone. All he knows is that he’s not allowed to wear any orange today. “How do you feel about blue? With a few purple accents, maybe. I won’t do anything too fancy, nothing like the professionals.”

“Whatever you think would look good,” he says agreeably.

She has him strip down to naked—and while chilly out, it’s tolerable, which is a good thing since he’s probably not supposed to shiver. She moves the blue and purple pots to the table’s edge and has him just stand there, arms slightly out from his sides.

The first sweep of the brush down his back makes him jump, because he isn’t expecting it to be _warm_. It is more comfortable, although it’s also like being slowly coated in syrup. He tries to crane his neck to watch, but it’s hard to do without twisting his back muscles. He can still feel and interpret the shapes she’s making. It all seems to dry fairly quickly.

Prina comes around to his front, but apparently requires no further time to evaluate the situation. Instead, when she leans down, he gets a wink in warning.

“Hypoallergenic and non-toxic, of course.”

Poe’s eyes get progressively wider as she paints a thick blue line from his navel all the way down to the end of his cock. His hair is trimmed as always, but the paint sticks in it something terrible. She does the same thing up the underside.

“You owe me, Finn,” he mutters, because he’s pretty sure the same part of Finn’s anatomy _traditionally_ remains free of such embellishment. That doesn’t seem very fair. “How non-toxic?” He squints down at her.

“You’ll be fine,” she responds, which isn’t at all why he wants to know. She follows the bones of his hips with more thick lines, and uses a more complicated pattern across his pecs. He flexes experimentally, and is disappointed when they don’t look more impressive.

Around his navel, itself, Prina paints concentric elliptical rings. He can’t figure out what they represent until she starts adding circles of varying sizes to the rings, staggered around the center. “That’s a solar system,” he surmises.

“You’re from Yavin Four, right?” She smiles up at him and makes a corresponding moon in purple.

Poe hasn’t figured out the symbolism, but something about it makes him uneasy. “Yeah, I’m from Yavin Four, but why is my belly button suddenly a gas giant?”

“As an omega man, it reflects where you come from—your heritage,” she explains. The brush tickles as she dabs in a spot. “For women, it also symbolizes the creation of life. Stars gives birth to planets, just as women give birth to children. Although—”

“Uh huh,” he says, flatly.

“With so many omega men having the procedure now—”

"Whoa, haha! That’s—nope. Nope.” Poe slams the door before she gets through the word “having.” “Can you—?”

Prina, thankfully, doesn’t take offense. “Sorry! I just assumed you knew. I can fill in the gaps.” She widens the rings enough to conceal the planets, making them look more like ripples in a pond—or a target, which is still better. Poe sighs in relief, having leapt out of the way of that awkward blaster bolt.

He chews on air for a moment. “Did Finn put you up to that? Snap? Karé ?”

“No. Stop moving,” Prina says, but gently, like one of her hobbies is painting living canvases

“Nien nunb? I know he’s got money for bribes.”

She contours the longer lines of his limbs with simple stripes, and some of his muscles too. Thick blue lines travel from the tops of his shoulders up the sides of his neck, terminating behind his ears. Again, everything dries quickly.

“What would you like on your face?” she asks.

“...Paint?” Poe assumes, then bites his tongue. “What do you recommend?”

Prina smiles broadly enough to light up the clearing. “I have an idea. Wait here.” She picks up and hands him his discarded cloak, which he dons to ward off the chill. Poe’s scratching at the paint under his navel when she returns with Finn in tow.

“Your turn next, buddy.” It’s not so much a slip as deliberate, but Finn is clearly preoccupied with the glimpses of blue under Poe’s cloak and on his bare forearms.

“You look…” Finn starts.

“Interesting?” Poe suggests.

Finn looks him up and down. “Itchy,” he concludes.

Prina selects a pot of yellow and the dregs of Poe’s blue. She dips Finn’s thumbs in the blue pot, then poses his hands so they stay in the air while Poe’s thumbs are coated in yellow.

Then she gestures between them. “I want you to imagine you’ve just been reunited after weeks apart, and how that feels. How would you touch each other’s faces?”

Poe can’t help but close his eyes and smile at that, which has the desired effect. Because of course, Finn curls his fingers so their clean backs rest against Poe’s cheeks, and sweeps his blue thumbs along the breadth of Poe’s cheekbones. He does it a few times, back and forth, once with fresh paint.

But Poe needs more than his thumbs. He rolls the pads of his fingers around the inside rim of the yellow bowl, coating up to the second knuckle. Finn holds still as he fans them out to leave four bright yellow prints on either side of his jaw, reaching up his cheeks, framing his face.

He knows it’ll sweat or flake off over the next few hours, but a tiny, silly part of him likes to think that Finn’s touch will stay forever, and vice versa.

____

 

Poe is supposed to be stacking extra wood for the bonfires at the last minute, but mostly he’s watching Prina paint Finn in yellow and green. Jess pushes him into a chair and tells him to supervise, instead. It’s what he’s good at, leaving the grunts to do the real work.

Finn catches him looking and rolls his eyes in commiseration, before that big, bright grin appears.

“You guys are going to make adorable babies,” Jess says not for the first time, carrying a bunch of mossy sticks past him.

Poe heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Pava, you get that I don’t have a uterus, right?” Twice in one day. Kriff.

“There are ways!” She chirps.

But something seems off. “Jess,” he calls after her on impulse, and she turns. “When—not if—you meet the right person, and if you have kids? It’s a cold, hard fact, that they will be disgustingly cute.”

Jess comes back to kiss him on the cheek.

Poe gets up to make sure Prina doesn’t paint over any of Finn’s scar. It’s just one more indication that Poe’s the luckiest man in the world, to love and be loved by someone that brave.

____

 

The sole person on Snap’s ground crew to bet against them owes Finn ten credits, because many, _many_ people do in fact love a party. That guy is an _idiot_.

After clearing it with the General and running a few emergency drills, only a skeleton crew has been left at their posts. Most of them are non-participants who volunteered, and others will be relieved from duty around the halfway mark. Everyone left at their posts has been offered a recording for later, should they desire it.

Poe eyes the steady trickle of people into the middle section, all of whom are wearing the customary green paint or cloth that signals their willingness to entertain overtures. Naturally, the whole group has been engaged in subtle negotiations for days, but there are always last-minute changes of heart. Never has a crowd displayed such a disparate mix of polite disappointment and leering glee.

Poe kneels as BB-8 rolls up to him. His appearance is something of a relief, because his friend has been absent since it was gently explained that, while they love him, BB-8 cannot be on the dais with them during the ceremony.

Someone has jokingly tied a big green bow to his antennae.

Poe narrows his eyes at RC-9A as she scuttles past. He opens his mouth, but Finn beats him to it. “Don’t get any ideas,” he warns the other droid.

Poe, as always, is delighted by their shared sense of humor. Obviously, they both know droids couldn’t and wouldn’t do anything...like that. He’s about 95% sure, anyway, and the other 5% is comprised of the same brain cells that enjoy the smell of liquid coolant.

Finn touches his shoulder to refocus his attention, and Poe stands to see Leia making her way toward where they wait behind the platform.

He’s not used to seeing her in a soft tunic and leggings, with her hair in a single grey braid across one shoulder. She’s not wearing any green, either. There are at least a dozen people who would love to be with her, unintimidated by her rank and legend, so the choice is personal. Either she’s not participating, or she’s in one of the committed groups.

Leia reaches up to hold Poe’s face in her work-rough hands, and her sleeves slip. There’s a complicated pattern on the underside of one wrist, and he hazards a guess at its meaning.

“I don’t know what to say,” she chuckles, but there’s a soft sheen to her eyes. “I should say something grand or meaningful, but this...I’ve never been very good at these sorts of speeches, when they matter.”

Poe doesn’t know what to say to that, either, although he itches with the need to comfort her.

She moves on to Finn, patting his cheek. “I am...so proud of you both. It’s not my place, but I am. You deserve each other, and all the happiness in the world.”

Finn, unlike Poe, has his own heartfelt reply. “Thank you, for everything. For giving me a chance—for welcoming me home,” he says.

Leia shakes her head, and Finn ducks to accept her embrace. “If I haven’t told you before, I never had a single doubt.”

When she steps back, her gaze encompasses them both. “I know you’ll take care of each other, just as you already do. I’ll be the first to tell you how hard this is sometimes, but I have faith—in your determination, and your love for each other. And boys...don’t sprain anything.”

“Yes ma’am,” Poe says fervently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I couldn't resist a few mpreg jokes. If that squicks you, know that's the end of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit! All tags now apply.

A few of their newly minted musicians are banging lightly, experimentally, on their fuel drums, pressing their legs against the sides to muffle the vibrations. Only two of that ragtag group are sporting green bands, planning to trade places with others around the second break. Maklan Zee is twirling their kloo horn, and chatting with someone brandishing an instrument Poe can’t identify.

The non-participants are settled on the same side, and resting comfortably on slightly soggy blankets, chairs, and pillows. Some will choose to get naked as a gesture of solidarity, and others won’t. Poe’s touched by their presence, and he wants them to feel comfortable as possible. Specialist Yla lounges among them, passing out cookies.

Everyone is more or less where they should be. Everything seems to be in place.

...Which means it’s time.

Finn looks panicky but determined—an expression Poe suspects is equally loud on his own face.

"You look really nervous,” Finn says. “But also, so damned sexy.”

Close enough. They're on the same page.

Poe squints at a new addition to the dais, just visible beside a pile of cushions. "Are those kneepads?" He asks in disbelief.

"I told you, I have a plan."

That's all well and good, but Poe isn't going to wear them. He has his dignity to think about, right before he gets fucked through three positions in front of their horny friends.

He signed up for that. He didn't sign up for kneepads. Or that bigger, flatter pillow, although that looks nice. It can stay.

"It’s just like any other day, right?” Finn asks, failing to mask his jitters. “We got this.”

He’s right, but the thought feels...somehow unfinished. Poe presses close to kiss him hard. When they pull apart, his grip slides from Finn's shoulders down his bare forearms, to grasp at his hands.

“We got this _together_ ,” he says quietly, fiercely. They always will.

Rey smiles back at them, waiting for their signal. When they nod, she steps up lightly, gracefully, onto the platform, and pads to the middle.

Poe draws a deep breath. He parts his cloak to avoid tripping over the one big step—not a Jedi—and gives Finn a hand up after him.

There’s a rather large, hushed crowd before them. Staring. Several among them possess four or more eyes.

“Uh,” He starts, completely and logically changing his mind, taking a step back into Finn.

Even through the cloak, Finn’s hand feels warm on his lower back. “I’m right here, _buddy_ ,” comes the smiling voice in his ear.

It has the intended effect: Poe snorts like a bantha. He remembers it’s supposed to be fun.

“...Let’s do this.” He does keep hold of Finn’s cloak until they separate to either side of Rey.

He hasn’t seen her outside Jedi robes in a while, not counting part of yesterday and thirty seconds prior. She’s certainly not here on official business. Not long ago, he’d have suspected Luke would frown on her presence at all, but now he’s not so sure. Rey says her mentor is world-weary and protective, not rigid for the sake of decorum.

Now she wears a shining white tunic, printed with bright orange and yellow blossoms. It falls to just below her knees, and her legs and feet are bare, toes curling against the wooden platform.

The crowd falls silent before them, enough to hear the patter of water falling from the trees onto the tarp above their heads. The bonfires aren’t yet lit, but the candles to either side of the dais throw two sets of shadows.

She holds out her hands, and they give her theirs. Her voice rings out into the clearing.

“These are my friends, Finn and Poe. They’ve decided to dedicate their lives to one another, in the tradition of alpha and omega, man and man. As such, you have all been invited here tonight to bear witness to their commitment. To watch as the promise of such an elegant union comes to fruition. To celebrate with them in their desires, in the beauty of their coupling, and the claim they stake on one another. After this night, they will belong to each other.”

 _That already happened a long time ago, on a planet far, far away_ , Poe thinks, unbidden. But he helped revise the customary words, so he knew it was coming.

Finn takes his cue, letting go of Rey’s hand to step forward. “You are all my friends. I welcome you here, and hope you’ll celebrate with me as I declare my love for, and my claim on, my omega.”

Of course, the traditional tract for Poe includes gems like “declare my obedience to my alpha,” so quite a lot had to go. Ignoring the obvious insult, he  _outranks_ Finn.

Everybody’s looking at him now. Poe’s...right. He takes a step toward the crowd, but rather than glance out across the tops of heads, he seeks out the cluster of his closest friends standing near the dais. Iolo, Jess, Snap, and Karé grin back at him.

“You are all my friends. I welcome you here, and hope you’ll celebrate with me as I declare my love for, and my claim on, my alpha.”

That’s it. The declarations are short on purpose. Poe reaches over to take Finn’s hand and asks, “Ready?” As if Finn might have changed his mind in the last minute.

Finn crowds close to kiss him long and sweet—and hello, favorite tongue. Their assembled friends and acquaintances cheer wildly, and the drumming starts. The drummers aren’t really playing the same beat at first, but they’re enthusiastic, so Poe counts that as a success. The bonfires light with a whoosh—also successful, thanks to their liberal use of an accelerant.

Rey salutes them—saucy—then hops off the back of the platform. He and Finn are yanking at each other’s cloaks, letting them fall where they may. Finn looks…

Finn looks…

He’s drawn in by arms around his waist and pressed against overheated skin, familiar rich brown splashed with vibrant yellow and green in the growing firelight.

He is intimately familiar with this body, and this incredible scent. He and Finn are almost the exact same height, and he loves being able to look straight into his eyes by default. Poe’s fingerprints stand out in yellow on his cheeks.

Finn looks kriffing amazing.

Poe’s pretty sure he does, too, if that smoldering is any indication. Any remaining uncertainty evaporates when Finn drags a thumb over his lips.

They kiss thoroughly and messily for a while, hands molding around jawlines and napes.

Before long, Finn’s grip switches to Poe’s ass and hauls him closer, and the grinding that ensues makes him a little weak in the knees. Over the noise of the drums, Poe can hear the crowd’s enthusiastic response to this escalation. It’s a happy sound, good-natured. It’s truly a celebration.

But it turns out that having sex outside, on a dais, in front of a very big audience is quite different from leaving a window cracked, or the occasional handjob in a hallway. Really, the assorted public debauchery they get up to seems insignificant by comparison. It’s a matter of scale. It’s a matter of, when he checks, the sheer number of naked erections visible in the firelight.

“Look at me,” Finn coaxes, and that’s his alpha voice, socking Poe somewhere midway between his hipbones. He meets Finn’s eyes, which are heavy-lidded but intense.

Poe doesn’t hesitate to let Finn take over, not because he’s seen the charts, but because—well, Finn’s an alpha—and he’s _great_ at it. Poe’s totally fine with the part of his programming that enjoys relinquishing control to the right person. And the right person has always been Finn, whom he trusts with his life, whom he _respects_.

Finn guides them down onto the blankets, smoothing his hands and lips across Poe’s whole body. Once they’re laying down, he settles Poe’s legs over his shoulders and uses one of the smaller, flatter pillows to cushion his spine. Thought of everything, his alpha did.

Poe enjoys some gentle petting for a while, but he moans for real when Finn checks that he’s wet enough to push one and then two fingers inside. It’s slow and firm, and feels excellent as always.

Then it starts to feel almost too precise. Sweat is beading at Finn’s temples, and his mouth is lush and parted—both good signs—but he’s also rigid, like he’s trying hard to stay focused. Like he’s worried about not doing everything perfectly with people watching.

“Stop thinking so much,” Poe pleads, groping for Finn’s unoccupied hand on the ground, relieved when he finds it. “Just be here with me.”

Finn draws a long, shivering breath...and relaxes. He kisses Poe’s knee with a gentler smile and—oh, that’s a dirty trick. Every time Finn sucks the taste off his fingers, that's five fewer minutes Poe can hold out.

Before he positions himself, Finn checks in. Poe is about as far from stopping him as it is possible to be and still be in this system.

They shudder madly together when Finn slides inside with one long, steady press to the hilt. It’s so, so good, that Poe can’t process anything else—just the intensity of feeling, the throbbing heat where they’re joined together, twitching and gasping.

He does hear the crowd cheering—wildly—as Finn starts thrusting. That’s a little distracting.

“Look at me,” repeats Finn. “I’ve got you.” He finishes with a heavy roll of his hips, which makes Poe whimper. This is going to be a noisy night for him, although the crowd and the music will cover most of it.

He clenches his hands into the pillow first, then raises his arms above his head and scrabbles at the smooth wood of the platform. Finn’s arms are braced even with his chin, and Poe leans over to nuzzle at his right wrist. He laves at it with the flat of his tongue a few times, but it’s ineffective when he’s being rocked back and forth past it.

After a few deep thrusts, he’s swimming in a sea of sex hormones and endorphins. “Touch me, just touch me,” he slurs.

Finn drops to his knees before easing Poe’s legs forward off his shoulders. Without actually pulling out, he manages to roll their weight onto their right sides and snug up behind Poe. Minor feat of acrobatics accomplished, he pushes Poe’s left knee toward his chest and then rotates his hip up. The result opens up the position...substantially improving the view for the happy crowd, and they let him know.

More importantly, Finn’s fingers are free to brush over his nape and hairline. Poe has always been incredibly sensitive to any touch, but especially during sex, and it makes him shiver helplessly. Lips pressed to his shoulder elicit a bitten-off cry.

They’re not even through round one yet, and already Poe feels lost in it all. He opens his eyes to the sight of people around the fires pleasuring themselves and each other. His gaze alights on a couple close to the dais; his arm is around her waist, with the fingers of his other hand rubbing circles around her clit. His cock juts through the squeeze of her thighs. The two women beside them are laying on a blanket and fingering each other. They’re all panting as hard as Poe is.

“Finn,” he moans. He rolls his neck as far to the left as possible, and Finn’s mouth is there, waiting for him. Their kiss is deep, full of tongue, and suffocatingly good.

All the while, Finn’s in-out slide is steady. Empty, full, empty, full inside him. He whimpers again when Finn withdraws, only to be tugged gently into a new position with their heads oriented toward the front of the dais. When Poe tips his chin up to look, everyone else is upside-down. Finn is lightning-fast at stacking more pillows underneath Poe’s hips, who in turn expects to feel his calves draped over shoulders again.

Instead, Finn hitches his legs up to about waist height, catching the backs of Poe’s knees to hold their weight. It prevents Poe from wrapping his legs around Finn’s hips, which in turn keeps his thighs open, without any leverage. Finn repurposes a quick hand to position himself and then starts _teasing_ —these delicious, awful, shallow swirls of his hips that get them nowhere. Without the leverage, Poe can’t do anything except hold a grudge and keen through his teeth.

“I’ll get you back.” By talking, apparently. “You’re going to—ahh—”

Finn relents and presses all the way in, deeper still. Poe feels his jaw drop, because now the angle is near-perfect.

“Good?” Finn smirks.

“Soo-oohh good,” Poe groans. Finn is forgiven.

Once he’s seated, Finn’s able to take more of Poe’s weight against his pelvis, which leaves his hands free to settle elsewhere.

Poe rakes his gaze over his alpha’s body at work: the muscles in his shoulders, chest, arms, and abs. Sweet Force, Finn’s abs, with their bold strokes of green and yellow, all pointing down to where his cock is—.

Yeah, Poe’s close already. Finn’s renewed thrusts are short and jarring, faster than before.

“Still good?” Finn asks, in that _voice_. “You ready to come yet?”

Poe tries for words but only manages a desperate nod and an unintelligible jumble. It’s not like him to falter, but he’s under a lot of pressure, you see.

“Well, I’m not,” Finn grits out, and even in the moment, Poe knows when he’s being lied to. It doesn’t make it any less hot. “I wanna fuck you all day.”

“It’s night.” Poe calls his bluff with every last ounce of self-control.

“Not when I’m through with you.” Finn grins, joyfully feral, adjusting his stance and driving home over, and over, and over again.

Poe’s hard enough between them that it’s entirely possible he’ll come without being touched. All things combined, it’s that good of a night.

He spares half a thought toward the people behind them. The drumbeat is steady, reverberating through the night at close to the speed of Finn’s thrusts, and just as powerful. He wonders how many others have already come, because he’s pretty sure he’s about to.

“How about now?” Finn asks him again.

“Yes,” he chokes out. “Yes, now.”

Finn lets go of one leg, which Poe immediately wraps around his waist, and his newly freed hand forms a sheath around Poe’s cock. “All right, love,” Finn encourages.

Poe’s muscles seize up and he erupts with a wordless shout. Obviously he doesn’t need to be told twice—not even once, but Finn gets points for style. More points are awarded when Finn jolts his hips and adds “only for me,” in a self-satisfied tone. As Poe’s release spatters across his chest, he feels Finn pulsing within him, smooth muscle contractions and heat amplifying his bliss.

Finn shudders over him, hands clutching at Poe’s hips with every aftershock. He doesn’t pull out until they’re both lying on the pillow, and then he does it carefully. The stretch of time right after could feel strangely bereft, at least for omega in good relationships. While the demands of military service ensure Poe’s good at handling it, if he can take a moment after sex to hide away under Finn’s warm safety, he will.

Finn leans up enough to kiss his painted cheek, then his jaw, and run his fingers through the mess on Poe’s sternum. He holds up his hand while he kisses Poe on the mouth, and the crowd roars good-naturedly when they see the slick coating of semen.

He’s expecting it when fingers swipe across his entrance next, but their audience is equally enthusiastic about this subsequent revelation of Finn’s pleasure.

“That’s one.” Finn grins down at him.

“Come back here,” Poe grouses, tugging him back down to bury his face for just a minute longer, enjoying the feeling of Finn’s lips against his hair.

 

____

 

“Poe. Poe, c’mon, it’s time for round two. You can’t sleep here.”

“Too much racket to sleep,” he groans.

“Yes, and I’m afraid they might decide to eat us if we don’t move things along.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit. All tags apply.

The next round starts up about a minute after Finn speculates aloud that the crowd would much rather continue to fondle each other than barbeque them, which is enough of a non-sequitur to cause Poe to snort and look at him funny. He’ll grant that there’s a substantial amount of nibbling and licking going on.

But then Finn sits up on Poe’s thighs, gently pins his hands above his head like an afterthought, and rakes his gaze from top to bottom. It gives Poe a pretty good view of Finn’s cock, too, which noticeably twitches and stiffens further at the scrutiny.

“So what’s the plan?” Poe asks, arching up against him. Finn trails his fingers down along Poe’s arms to his armpits, then across to pinch his nipples. “Good plan,” Poe gasps.

“I could ask the audience,” Finn teases in a deeper register, still pinching and rubbing. “Whether they want to see me fuck you again, or suck you off, or some combination of the two. Could ask them what position, and how long. Whether to draw it out, or make it fast and hard.”

“You practiced this speech,” Poe accuses with a groan. He’s not actually complaining.

“No, I didn’t,” says Finn, and he’s not teasing anymore, his eyes dark and voice gone throaty. “I can  finish in you, or across your back, or thighs. Anywhere you want, baby. I don't really care, as long as you taste like me after. As long as you smell like me, and everyone knows it.”

The words have him writhing against Finn’s easy weight on top of him, panting feverishly. Two years is plenty of time to learn what your partner likes. Some of it is particular to Poe, and some of it grabs hold of every strand that makes up his omega fabric and  _ yanks _ .

Glad his wrists are still free, Poe curls upward and gives his instincts free rein. He licks a spot just under Finn’s chin, loving the smell of his skin. Using Finn’s arm to stay upright, he presses kisses below his collarbone, and trails light fingers across the hair and sensitive skin just above the base of his cock. His eyes flick toward the crowd meaningfully, but he licks his lips and pitches his words for Finn alone. 

“I don't care what they want. I only care what you want--what we want. I trust you, Finn. Tell me what to do, and I'll do it. Or you can take it. So what do you want?”  Poe asks.

Finn never expects more than he’s willing--more than he  _ wants _ \--to give. It’s easier to relax and give himself over to sensation, and Finn’s said much the same. It feels inexplicably right. Poe can barely remember when the words “I trust you,” and “you have my permission” were part of their routine. Sometimes, peoples’ pieces were just made to fit together.

Finn pushes him down again and runs his fingers up Poe’s sides. He leans down for a kiss and lets their tongues tangle. “I’ll show you.”

It’s Poe’s turn for a full-body shiver. “Do it.”

Finn slides down his body and takes him into his mouth, and Poe whines long and loud.

He’s pretty sure he hears Jess howl, “Kriff yeah!” at the same time. Omega solidarity.

He watches Finn swallow him down, and bucks up, nails pinching into his fists at the sensation. He’s not raising his hands to give his alpha direction, at least not tonight. Finn knows what he likes, anyway.

He brings Poe right to the edge, or at least well past the safety margin. On his way back up, Finn takes the opportunity to lick and tug his nipples before releasing them in the cool night air. So now Poe’s cock, and his nipples, and a spot above his navel, are all peaking in the breeze.

Finn toys with them all while his mouth keeps Poe’s occupied. When he comes up for air, Finn has an answer for what he wants. “Let’s get you up on your hands and knees. Face the crowd.”

Poe, while being helped up, very pointedly does not look at the kneepads.

The sexual energy rolling off the crowd is enough to overwhelm a star destroyer’s shields. He sees Snap’s head buried between a woman’s legs. Iolo is riding another man, face and neck flushed, head tipped back—Poe is happy for him, but also hopes Karé isn’t nearby. The majority of the crowd is engaged in one sexual act or another, and the vast majority of those who are, are facing the dais. They’re watching Finn and Poe. They’re getting off on watching him and his alpha have sex.

Poe's an exhibitionist; a lot of omega are, especially if they’re in heat. To say he’s thrilled at the idea is an understatement. But he also understands now, what he didn’t when they first talked about it.

Tonight isn’t actually about showing off; tonight is for showing everyone else what they  _ can’t have _ anymore. What Finn—and Poe—will never give up. It’s a vivid demonstration that Finn will fight to keep him close, to protect him, to be the only one that fills him up. It’s a carnal celebration of fierce, wild love.

“Good,” Finn murmurs, kissing the top of his spine. He runs his hands in a long sweep from Poe’s hunched shoulders all the way down the backs of his thighs, which he spreads apart a little more. When Poe’s head drops, he sees his own cock hanging heavy and dripping onto the platform. He lets out a choked-off whine when Finn eases back into him, in spite of, because of, being looser and wetter now in several ways.

It’s pretty standard fucking after that, if you consider “pretty standard” to be “above average for everyone else.” Finn adjusts his velocity, vector, and thrust better than most of Poe’s pilots. Better than Poe himself, if he’s honest.

He knows he’s not the only one enjoying it. The crowd is seriously into it, but Poe’s not so much concerned with them anymore. Finn is about to utterly, completely, lose it behind him. Poe can tell by the strangled sound of his breathing and how tight his balls are against him.

Finn bumps his legs further apart, and in response, Poe sinks onto his elbows to seek out the right angle. He stutters out a moan, shoving back to meet Finn’s thrusts with more strength. He continues for as long as he can before Finn curves over his back, holds onto his forearms, and pretty much plows him into the pillow, in a most satisfying way.

To cap it off, an arm wraps around his waist, pulling him close as Finn jolts and comes deep. It’s exactly the kind of manhandling Poe can get in front of, especially when Finn firmly keeps him in place for a moment and doesn’t let go. Only after the last of his twitching has subsided does he relax them into the cushions once more.

It’s not officially number two, though, until after Finn slips free and his softened cock trails stickily along Poe’s inner thigh—until he flips Poe over and takes him into his mouth again. He weighs down Poe’s hips as he comes, but the crowd cheers knowingly.

 

____

 

Poe wishes, not for the first time, that he had some level of Force sensitivity, because now he wants their canteens to slide into his hands so he doesn’t have to move. He reaches out anyway in the hope that Rey or someone will pick up on his signal.

Surprisingly, that someone turns out to be Karé, who vaults lightly onto the dais and fetches them for him. “Thanks. You’re the best,” Poe tells her. Finn stirs against his side. “Finn thinks so, too.”

“I know it,” she smiles.

He stops her before she can hop down again. “Karé, I—”

Except he doesn’t actually know what to say about her and Iolo, or if he should say anything at all. Her expression tightens in anticipation.

“Just, thanks for coming. It really means a lot to me. ...I just know how I’d feel if you weren’t here.”

Poe’s getting  _ lots  _ of kisses on the cheek tonight. He’s glad Finn isn’t the jealous type.

 

____

  
  


As Finn persists in trying to feed him snacks, Poe wonders, out loud, who the real omega is.

Finn scowls in mock offense. “That is a very dynamist thing to say. I expect better from you, Poe Dameron.”

Before Poe can finish his sip of water, Finn takes his canteen and tosses it off the platform. Poe pounces on him weakly and is promptly rolled onto his back.

Cue round three.

 

____

  
  


This time, Finn maneuvers him onto his haunches so that Poe’s kneeling upright before the crowd. It wouldn’t so much be maneuvering, except by this point, Poe is content that his most strenuous contribution to their continued sexual exploits is slumping back against Finn like a sweaty ragdoll.

It’s why he’s a little relieved when his thighs are nudged apart to rest more weight on Finn’s own, and he sighs, still in pleasure, at feeling his nearly-official mate pressing smoothly back in.

Their friends cheer. Again, because they're  _ crazy _ .

Poe does realize the position puts him fully, deliberately on display. No chance at coyness now, if there ever was.

Finn has to be beyond exhausted too, or else they’ve been significantly underutilizing his stamina for the past two years. Still, he wraps his left arm tightly around Poe’s hips, which has the additional benefit of trapping Poe’s dick against his own belly. It was getting a little uncomfortable before, bumping off his abs with every hard thrust.

Bonus, the ropey muscle of Finn’s tricep rubs against the head every time Finn flexes his arm, and he’s doing a lot of flexing, indeed, to keep them in their current position. Poe is pretty much no help at all in that department, although he does stretch an arm up around the back of Finn’s neck for stability.

He may not have much left in the way of coherent thought, but Poe is pretty sure showmanship is encoded in his genes. The firelight flickers inside his eyelids as he lets his head drop back to rest on Finn’s shoulder, keenly aware of the way his neck looks, stretched out long and wanton. 

The nipping at the corner of his jaw and just below has Poe wrapping his other arm around Finn’s flank, finding purchase on the rock-hard muscle of his ass. Finn’s ass, which is doing its own regular flexing.

He uses the drums as they rumble through him, rallying the energy to cant his hips and ride a little, awkward though it may be in their position. Poe’s not as flexible anymore—okay, he was never particularly flexible, but he spends ten-plus hours a day in a durasteel box. Little rolls of his hips feel stupidly good, so he gives himself over to that, and trusts Finn to make up the difference.

The catcalls from the crowd are shifting gradually into hissed exclamations and groans. Poe slits his eyes open again. He wants to admire—sexily, through his lashes—whatever havoc his sinuous writhing has wrought. It’s a little hard to decipher what’s actually going on, though, so he tilts his head around to take a cue from Finn.

Finn’s looking out toward the crowd too, but his gaze is much sharper. Poe follows it to Karé, then to Brannock, and then Snap.

Someone staring that intently at his pilots triggers an immediate reaction: determine what his beloved, possibly drunk, dumbass friends are doing to earn it. The instinct has  _ actually _ saved lives and prevented diplomatic incidents, and not even mind-blowing sex overrides it.

Karé and Brannock both appear to be more interested in the stones ringing the bonfire than in Poe, which naturally, he finds highly suspicious.

Snap simply waggles his fingers at him, then drop his gaze back down to the omega in his lap. Poe struggles momentarily to count all the limbs in their tangle—nothing seems amiss.

Next, he tracks Finn’s line of sight to two women languidly kissing. One of them is Killiwack. When she looks up and notices Finn’s scrutiny, her eyes immediately flick down and away.

That’s when it dawns on Poe—fully formed, the realization burns through the lustful haze with a blinding roar. His heart’s firing fast enough to outperform a snubfighter.

Finn’s staring them down. Finn’s staring down each and every alpha in turn, while he fucks Poe in front of them.

As he regains the power of speech, Poe nuzzles at Finn’s neck to get his mate— _ his mate _ —focused on him instead of the crowd. “You’re staking one hell of a claim,” he husks.

Finn closes the centimeters between their lips to kiss him deep and breathless, then rocks back a little on his heels and changes the angle. Poe’s legs fall just that much further apart, and he’s aware of  _ exactly  _ how much the crowd can see at that moment.

Finn’s left arm is a warm restraint across his collarbone, and his right hand has a steel grip on Poe’s inner thigh. Between the two, Poe’s cock and the expanse of his torso is fully exposed to the crowd. And below that, everyone is watching Finn actually fucking him.

“Holy. Kriffing. Hell,” he breathes, suddenly dizzy.

Finn lets go of Poe’s thigh to support himself, and somehow manages to pick up the pace. It’s incredible and overwhelming, and Poe’s head is spinning. His skin prickles.

It's not the performance—although true, half the crowd is taking their own pleasure, most with an eye toward Poe and Finn. It’s not the swirl of raw, living energy, because that’s a Force thing, and he’s pretty sure that’s off limits. It’s not the pheromones, even while the air is thick enough to have tripped nearby detection alarms.

It’s not any of those things. What’s driving him out of his mind with pleasure is  _ Finn _ . It’s their bodies, and their bond. Finn is becoming an indelible part of him, stroke by confident stroke, and while it shouldn’t be that different from every time before, it just...is.

He feels solid, and breathless, and so warm, he must be glowing.

All of Finn’s cards are face up on the table: he wants, and needs Poe, more than anyone else, and is dead-set on proving they belong together. On fighting for him, if need be.

Looking down at Finn's arm against his skin crowds Poe onto the crumbling edge of the precipice, but a different need pushes back, surging through him.

“Wait,” he gasps out, tugging at the wrist across his chest. “Finn, wait!”

Finn startles like he’s been burned, pulling out and sprawling backwards with Poe still on top of him. Everything spins for a second as Finn turns him over, tries to look at his face. His eyes, always so expressive, are wide with distress; Finn must be scared, Poe realizes, that he’s hurt.

“I’m okay! I’m okay,” he rushes to reassure. The extraction was a little fast, but that’s on Poe. Finn’s probably feeling it too, under the adrenaline.

He gets his elbows under him and sits up. He gets Finn sat up, too, and some undignified scuttling results in Poe straddling his lap, nearly close enough for their noses to touch.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Poe promises, then checks his eyes. ”Wait, did I hurt you?”

Finn shakes his head, and while he looks a little dazed, it’s truthful.

The drumming stops and the crowd’s shouts of concern suddenly register with them both.

“We’re fine! Everything’s okay!” Poe yells hastily over his shoulder, flapping a hand in their direction. Snap and Karé are probably two seconds away from throwing themselves onto the dais and administering first aid.

“What is it?” Finn asks desperately. His hands and gaze are surveying Poe with a concern entirely non-sexual. “What’s going on?”

Poe remembers his thought from earlier, about why they’re really here _.  _ His mouth goes dry, so he kisses Finn within an inch of his life.

Separating, he pants, “They already got two orgasms. This one’s just for us.”

Finn stares blankly, but only for a moment. He’s not one to be caught off-guard for long. He brings both hands up around Poe’s neck and kisses him softer, slower. “Sounds perfect.”

They fill a minute with gentle touches—brushing lips and fingers over every bit of skin—before they’re able to join and find a rhythm again.

As they rock together, Poe’s back is to the crowd. He focuses on Finn's face as often as he can manage it, with all the agonizing, sublime sensations; his beautiful eyes, and generous smile, and those silly paint fingerprints Poe covers with the real thing.

_ I will hold you close, protect you, and be the only one to give you this _ .

Should’ve put that in the declarations. Maybe he’ll tell Finn later.

It’s slow and imperfect, sweet and aching, and that’s absolutely fine. They’ve come harder before and will again. But this time, when it happens, it’s the most amazing finish and subsequent beginning Poe never imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't tell my mom I wrote this. Any of this.


	6. Chapter 6

Sometime later, the bonfires have collapsed into embers, and most people have either finished the carnal portion of their evening or taken it indoors.

Poe is wearing his slouchiest, softest pants and shirt, and didn’t bother finding his boots. He’s still shedding flecks of paint, and even after a real bath, he’ll probably reek of sex for days. His hair, however, looks completely normal.

At the after-party inside the hangar, he tracks down his father on shaky legs. Kes is sitting at a table by the big doors open to the outside, talking to Karé and Nien Nunb. They’re all drinking something dark red and likely alcoholic from a pitcher, but his dad looks content enough.

Mindfully, Poe sits down beside him. “Finn’s taking care of something.” Actually, Finn is icing something. Round four was athletic. “He should be out in a minute,” he informs.

His father claps a hand on his shoulder and Poe leans into it. He looks closer at the pitcher on the table and his heart twists.

“Wait, is that—?”

Twice a year when Poe was a kid, his mother made fortified wine with the fruit on Yavin IV. Of course, she made him fruit punch instead, but after he turned ten, he was allowed a sip of the real stuff. It worked, in that he found it disgusting.

He hasn’t seen those glass bottles or that pitcher since she died. He’d thought they were gone.

“I’ve been experimenting,” his Dad says. “She never wrote down exactly what she used, or how much. Like everything else, she just did it by feel. By taste.”

Poe chews briefly on the inside of his lip, and subtly uses the table to assist in standing up. He snags a standard military cup and pours some for himself. The moment his father looks away, he dunks his whole hand into the pitcher to snag a chunk of infused fruit.

The wine isn’t terrible. It’ll probably also get better, the more he drinks.

They sit around, talking about nothing much for a while. Kes got the full tour the day before, but Poe walks him through the semi-darkened hangar again to visit the A-wings. His father runs his hand across one of the older ones, similar to what Shara Bey had flown.

When they get back to the table, Poe is delighted to see Rey has joined them, and BB-8 is wiggling between her calves.

Poe is facing Karé, and beyond her the hangar doors, so he misses Finn’s approach. He feels the impression of a familiar presence, and then a light touch to his nape that feels so pleasant and secure, his eyelids flutter involuntarily. Finn strokes his thumb there for just a second before sitting down beside Poe.

“Did I miss anything?” He asks the group.

“Not really,” Poe says, snagging the pitcher. “Try the wine. It's strong.”

Snap shows up next, with the same twosome he spent much of the ceremony with. He looks loose, relaxed. All three of them seem really happy. “Mind if we join you?” He asks.

Poe gestures at the empty chairs. “Sit your ass down, you wonderful man. All three of you.” He's tipsy from both exhaustion and his second full cup.

When Iolo shows up, he snags a chair from another table. He pulls it up next to Karé with a small, fragile smile, and she returns it. Poe lets himself feel selfishly hopeful, because Rey is right—he is sentimental.

Brannock and Lo’ola are two people he never would have gotten to know, had it not been for Finn. Now they have dinner two or three nights a week. Poe consoled Lo’ola for weeks after their own mother passed away unexpectedly. He and Brannock...well, they really only have Finn in common. The two squeeze in between Finn and Snap.

Pava arrives last. Her low-cut shirt reveals, if Poe isn’t seeing double, at least six hickies on her neck and chest.

One by one, their friends have joined them. His family. Through blood, sweat, and tears. Their family.

“Is it time for cake?” Rey asks. She’s learned to appreciate the occasional sweet.

Poe looks at the people scattered across the hangar floor, then at Finn.

“Yeah,” Finn says. “Now seems good.”

There are six heavily-frosted cakes sitting on a folding table against the wall. Snap still won’t tell him how he managed to get them all back in one piece, which Poe finds highly, highly suspicious. Because if there is one person in the world who bakes worse than his grandma, it’s Temmin himself.

Finn’s alpha cake is fairly unimpressive, drab and merely the size of half a dozen datapads. Poe’s is twice that big and colorful.

“Mine’s bigger,” Poe observes lightly. Tirra Wexley does indeed have a soft spot for him, now that she’s resigned herself to Poe not ending up with her grandson.

Finn’s eyes are hooded, causing Poe to flush as he leans in to whisper hotly in his ear. “Just like your ego.”

Finn stands tall and waves dramatically to get everyone’s attention. He waits for the message of quiet to spread between tables, then speaks loudly and clearly into the vast space of the hangar.

“Everyone, I have only one thing to say...thank you. Thank you all so much for attending.” He looks over at Poe, who has nothing to add but “What he said,” in a fond tone.

Finn takes his hand and calls out, “Let’s eat some cake.”

Poe motions for BB-8 to come forward. He’ll be recording the exchange, and some heartfelt thank-yous, to send on to Snap’s grandma. Once BB-8 boops in readiness, he gestures at Finn to go first.

“What—is it supposed to ooze?” Finn asks in horror, adopting a more defensive grip on the knife. They may need to edit that out.

“Yeah, Finn, it is. See, the jam symbolizes an alpha’s fertility—y’know, their semen.” Poe totally made that up on the spot. Finn’s going to kill him when he finds out, if he actually believes it.

Poe’s omega cake, thankfully, does not ooze. He does hope BB-8 isn’t zoomed in far enough to catch him eyeing it with mistrust. He puts his own knife down and wraps the sliver of omega dessert in a napkin, in case he or Finn needs to spit it out in a hurry. “Are we seriously supposed to feed this to each other?”

“Smile,” Finn says grimly, shoving cake into Poe’s open mouth.

 

____

 

He wakes slowly. He’s first made aware of the disgusting puddle of drool he’s left for himself on the pillow, and second, that his pillow is Finn’s stomach.

“Poe,” Finn croaks, “I love you more than life itself, but please don’t touch me anywhere below the waist for the next 48 hours.”

“Let’s agree to spend those 48 hours not walking or sitting anywhere,” he whispers back.

On the desk across from them, he sees the beautiful blanket and pillows Rey made for them—stitched with her own hands in her limited free time. Even under the artificial light, the colors are amazing. In a crate below are a half-dozen bottles of Kes’s fortified wine, and a basket of fruit.

“But your dad would have to find another way home,” Finn says.

Poe’s after-after-party memories are a little fuzzy, but he recalls General Organa approving three days of shore leave to Yavin IV—”we know where to find you if things go wrong”—and the loan of what is technically a Resistance resource.

Otherwise inclined to agree with Finn, there’s no way Poe’s giving up the chance to put that swanky shuttle through its paces. He’ll fly standing up the whole time, if he has to.

He sighs somewhat dreamily. Finn, most likely guessing his thoughts correctly, sighs too.

“We can deal with it later,” Poe says, rubbing his cheek fondly on a dry part of Finn’s shirt.

The last thing he notices before falling back asleep is BB-8, staring up at them from a few feet away, completely silent.

“We’re still us, BB-8. Nothing’s changed,” he rasps.

Finn’s an alpha—boy, is he ever—and Poe’s an omega. They have a cute little droid that tracks mud all over the place, and regular semi-public sex. But really, that’s as traditional as they get.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who kudos'd and commented! I know the mix(?) isn't everyone's cup of tea, so I especially appreciate those of you who let me know you liked it.
> 
> If you have the time, I'd love to know what you think worked and didn't work (for example, I probably should have cut some bits for pacing). I don't have a beta and would like to improve. I know fishing for comments is gauche, but I hope you'll cut me some slack. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags for references to exhibitionism throughout, and some sexual humor. A/B/O is depicted with a light touch in 1-3, comes into play a bit more in 4-5.
> 
> My one serious note for the whole story: About halfway through 15K words, I realized the unique risk in writing a/b/o specifically for these two, in this configuration. The established, fantasy a/o behaviors I find fun and endearing have some overlap with ugly real-world stereotypes. Everyone in this world is equally, happily slutty (no character is oversexed). Hope that helps allay any possible fears!


End file.
